The sun was high in the sky.
Rollin finished his morning exercise and dragged an exhausted Madison into the car.
People often said Western women were built tough, but Rollin begged to differ. Under the pressure of a body with 5x peak human stats—effectively 1.25 Captain Americas—all flesh was equal.
"Oh my god," Madison croaked, her voice husky. "You almost broke me last night. When I said 'slow down,' why didn't you stop?"
Rollin smirked, scanning the surroundings. "Isn't the rule that 'no means yes'? Slow down means speed up, stop means go harder."
Before Madison could protest, Rollin cut in. "Just answer one question: Did you enjoy it?"
"...Yes."
Madison slumped in her seat, defeated. "Fuck."
"Hm?"
"Wait! I didn't say anything!" Madison waved her hands frantically. "I'm serious. I'm spent. No opposites this time."
Suddenly, Madison's eyes lit up. She waved enthusiastically toward the sidewalk. "Maria! Over here!"
"You beautiful, kind, understanding angel! I love you so much right now!"
Maria flinched, startled by the overwhelming welcome. Just yesterday, Madison had been polite but distant. Now she was looking at Maria like a life raft in a storm.
What happened?
Maria shrank back slightly. "Um... I was just taking a walk."
She hadn't told her father about the trip. She had just come to check, half-expecting them to have left hours ago. But it was nearly noon, and they were still here.
It felt like they were waiting for her.
Maria stole a glance at Rollin in the driver's seat. She felt a warm flutter in her chest. Did he... wait all morning just for me?
"Right, just a walk!"
Despite her fatigue, Madison used a burst of telekinesis to gently yank Maria into the back seat before she could object.
"Go, go, go!"
"Target is moving."
"Keep up!"
On a parallel street, a nondescript sedan turned the corner to follow Rollin's car.
A hundred meters in, the car suddenly jolted as if it had hit a boulder. A sharp hiss cut through the air.
The driver's face fell. "Oh shit. Blowout."
He slammed the brakes and got out to check. A sharp, jagged stone was embedded perfectly in the tire.
"Team B, this is Team A. We are immobilized. You take point."
"Team B copies."
A black pickup truck U-turned to intercept. But the moment Rollin's taillights came into view—
BANG!
The pickup shuddered. Another blowout.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent slammed his fist on the steering wheel. "Dammit!"
The Triskelion. S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
Agent Coulson looked up at Nick Fury and shrugged. "Sir, the target has made it clear he doesn't want company."
"If we force the issue, the next thing to pop won't be a tire. It'll be our heads."
Nick Fury's single eye narrowed as he scanned Coulson's report.
Rollin had only fought once, but the versatility he displayed was alarming. Young, ruthless, and possessing unknown tech-magic. A classic Level 8 threat.
"However..." Fury muttered, "If he's choosing that place... even he might not survive."
Fury had planned to observe Rollin, then swoop in at a critical moment to save him, creating a debt that would lead to recruitment.
But now...
Fury walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ant-like agents scurrying below.
"If he wants to die, let him."
"The Avengers Initiative doesn't recruit idiots."
Rollin didn't know about this conversation. If he did, he would have laughed in the face of the man who lost an eye to a cat.
Maybe it was the result of world fusion, but the infamous Camp Crystal Lake was located just on the outskirts of New York.
Even stranger: Camp Crystal Lake had fantastic online reviews.
For decades, zero negative feedback. Everyone who came back gave it five stars.
If I hadn't watched the movies, I'd think this place was actually a paradise.
The car turned onto a gravel road. The ride got bumpy.
They passed a dilapidated gas station. An old man with a weird face was wiping down a shotgun on the porch.
Rollin smiled. There it is. That's the flavor.
The car rolled into the campsite proper. To Rollin's surprise, the place was packed. At least a dozen other people were milling about.
Good lord. People really do line up to die these days.
Rollin's attention was drawn to a mother and daughter pair.
The mother had golden curly hair and a figure that was remarkably voluptuous. She held her daughter's shoulders, smiling with a radiance that was almost blinding.
But her expression... it was too innocent. Like a child trapped in a woman's body. It gave her an eerie "Stepford Wife" quality.
The daughter was about ten years old. Pigtails. Cute. But her eyes were cold, scanning the crowd with an intellect far beyond her years.
[Anomaly Targets Detected: Yulenka, Jennifer (Mother).]
[Reward: +200 Anomaly Points.]
[Map Editor Upgraded to Version 1.6. Anomaly Points: 100/700.]
"Yulenka?!"
Rollin's pupils contracted. The Russian horror loli? What is she doing here?
He remembered the obscure film Yulenka.
Yulenka was a prodigy. Her brain developed prematurely, giving her genius-level IQ as a child. The side effect was a shortened lifespan—doctors said she wouldn't live past eighteen.
She didn't fear death. She feared leaving her mother alone. So she hunted for a stepfather. A perfect husband for her mother.
If the man failed to meet her standards? Death.
If he slept with the mother and didn't commit? Death.
Targeted by a super-genius sociopath with the "innocent child" buff? Even Batman would struggle.
Rollin hadn't expected to run into this dynamic duo during a Slasher exorcism.
Jennifer and Yulenka locked eyes with Rollin. He nodded politely.
Jennifer smiled back—sweet, pure, like an inflatable doll.
Yulenka squeezed out a practiced, fake smile.
Rollin ushered Madison and the nervous Maria toward the cabins.
On the way, he passed a man who looked at least sixty. The man's face was grim, etched with trauma.
Their eyes met. Rollin saw his nametag.
Tommy Jarvis.
Wait. The Legendary God of War, Tommy Jarvis?
Wasn't Tommy supposed to be a kid? Or a young adult? This guy was an old man.
This shattered Rollin's expectations.
In the Friday the 13th franchise, Jason Voorhees was an unstoppable killing machine. But he had a nemesis. A boy named Tommy Jarvis who hacked him to pieces. Then killed him again. And again.
Tommy Jarvis was the only human to consistently solo Jason.
But here was the terrifying implication:
If Tommy was this old... how long had Jason been evolving?
Was the Jason in the woods just the classic slasher? Or had he been leveling up for decades?